


the love we had and lost

by blazeofglory



Category: Black Sails
Genre: Alternate Season/Series 04, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Cunnilingus, F/F, Fluff and Angst, Getting Back Together, Porn with Feelings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-15
Updated: 2018-07-15
Packaged: 2019-06-11 01:11:13
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,085
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15304125
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/blazeofglory/pseuds/blazeofglory
Summary: They have both lost everything they once knew, except each other, and Maxwants.Or: Season four AU where Max and Eleanor leave Nassau to start a new life. They have a hell of a lot of baggage, but at least they have each other.





	the love we had and lost

**Author's Note:**

> Title from _Supercut_ by Lorde! 
> 
> Happy Black Sails Rarepair Appreciation Week!

Max would be lying to herself if she said she hadn’t thought about this. She moved on, she found success and love, and time has passed-- but her success is gone, her love is gone, and somehow, after all this time, all that remains is Eleanor. When Max had dreamt of having Eleanor’s touch again, it had never been under these circumstances, yet… it feels good, in a way, to at least be gaining one thing from this mess of a situation. Everything that Max has spent her whole life working toward-- happiness, _freedom_ \-- and everything that Eleanor had wanted Nassau to be, it is all _gone_. Perhaps it would be easy to blame Eleanor for much of what has gone on, but Max has been too complicit in it all to be such a hypocrite. They had both only been trying to _survive_ , but everything went wrong.  

They have brought their own ruin upon themselves, it seems, and there is nothing to be done now but to let the flames take the island and evacuate before their lungs fill with the smoke of their failures.

Anne is never far from Max’s mind, even now. Max cannot help but wonder where Anne is, wonder if she is with Jack, wonder if they are _safe_. It does not matter if Anne hates her, no matter how much Max hates herself for ruining what they had; it only matters that Anne still draws breath. Max and Eleanor are finally leaving Nassau far behind, and Max just hopes that Anne has somehow managed to do the same.

It is probable that Max will never know what becomes of Anne-- or Jack, or Flint, or Long John Silver. Once her and Eleanor are gone, it is likely that there will be no way for them to know anything at all about the lives and the people and the war they have left behind. Max does not feel particularly talkative for most of their journey, and neither does Eleanor; Max suspects that she’s thinking much the same things. There are a thousand things that they need to say to each other, except neither of them has the words.

For one brief moment, Max considers asking Eleanor if she misses Woodes Rogers and if she ever loved him at all, but… she is not sure she wants to know the answer, no matter what it is. If Eleanor said _yes_ , Max would worry that she was not fully committed to fleeing and she might return someday, to that _fucking_ island that wants to see her hanged. But if Eleanor said _no_ , that might make Max angry, because why the fuck did Eleanor do half the things she did, if not out of love? If Eleanor loved him, if she still _does_ love him, then this betrayal must be hurting Eleanor more than Max can possibly comprehend. Perhaps it is selfish, but Max would rather not know the truth just yet.

Despite the circumstances, despite the twin holes in both of their hearts, it is a comfort to Max to have Eleanor by her side. She suspects, by the way Eleanor clung to her hand as they watched Nassau fade away behind them, that she feels the same.

“What will we do when we arrive?” Eleanor asks, quietly, when Featherstone informs them that they are just over a day out from their destination.

“I do not know,” Max admits. She has spent much of the journey thinking about it, but there is no easy solution to their situation. They have very little to offer the world-- neither of them are skilled in trades, they have no money, and they are about to rejoin the world that believes all people that look like Max should be slaves. Max would rather die than be a slave or a whore again.

The North is cold and uncertain, and neither of them are suited to the temperament.

“My grandparents may not be happy to see me,” Eleanor continues, glaring across the room from where she sits at the desk in the captain’s cabin. Max paces anxiously near the door, running through potential scenarios in her mind. “If they can just loan us a little bit of money, we can figure something out... At least it’s more likely to work than the plan to get them involved in Nassau.”

“Yes,” Max agrees immediately, though she’s nowhere near as confident as she sounds and her pacing betrays it. “Surely they must hold enough love for you to at least provide a loan.”

“Surely,” Eleanor echoes with a grimace.

“We cannot go back,” Max points out gently as she joins Eleanor on the other side of the desk, standing behind her. Without letting herself question the impulse, she smooths her hands over Eleanor’s shoulders, soothing the goosebumps that have risen under Eleanor’s thin shirt. “We are the most resourceful people we know and we will make this work.”

Eleanor tilts her head back, looking up at Max and holding her gaze.

“I can’t imagine living an ordinary life,” Eleanor admits quietly.

“ _Eleanor_ ,” Max chides as she steps around the chair and straddles Eleanor as easily as she can with all her skirts in the way. Once she’s settled, Eleanor’s hands holding her waist like they have a hundred times and Max’s arms around Eleanor’s neck, Max gives her a mischievous smile. “You will be arriving in Philadelphia in a stolen pirate ship with a former pirate and two former whores, one of which is your female former lover who I believe you intend to find a life with. None of that is ordinary.” 

Eleanor gives a surprised laugh-- a sound that Max has not heard in at least a year. She loved this woman, once, and moments like this make her think that she could again. 

“You have a point,” Eleanor concedes with a smile that has _always_ made Max weak, since the very first time she ever saw Eleanor. It had been a warm day in Nassau, as most days were, and they were several years younger than they are now, when Max saw Eleanor outside her window for the first time. She was wearing pants and speaking loudly and smiling at the world, young and confident and beautiful. After that day, Max was determined to actually meet Eleanor and see that smile up close. 

Obviously, Max succeeded, and look where they are now. Life could have gone so much differently if Max had never made it her mission to meet Eleanor, befriend Eleanor, _love_ Eleanor. Maybe she would still be in Nassau, still working as a whore, still powerless, but... maybe she would still be safe. But-- no, she was never safe on that island.  

It is useless to think about these things now, so Max does not let herself linger on it. She focuses, instead, on the beautiful woman beneath her. 

“I suspect you may have to go back to proper dresses,” Max says, then sighs deeply. “It is a shame, I have loved seeing you in your old pirate clothes.”

“I’ve loved not wearing a corset,” Eleanor agrees as she moves her hands over Max’s corset. Her dexterous fingers find the laces at the back, pausing there. Eleanor bites her lip, then smiles flirtatiously, looking younger than she has since her father’s death. “Isn’t life better without them?” 

In the past few weeks, they have held hands and exchanged a few soft kisses, but it’s been a long time since it’s gone any further than that-- back before Woodes Rogers, before Anne Bonny, before fucking _Long John Silver_ showed up and ruined everything.

They have both lost everything they once knew, except each other, and Max _wants_.

“I can endure a life of corsets if you are there too,” Max whispers. She caresses Eleanor’s face, cupping her cheek gently, and Eleanor leans into the touch, her eyes slipping shut.

“I do intend to stay with you,” Eleanor replies after a moment, opening her eyes once more, looking as earnest as she had when she declared to Max, _You and I are leaving Nassau right now, fuck everyone else_. “You know that, right?”

Max hesitates, then admits, “I hoped.”

“I wouldn’t be able to do this alone,” Eleanor says, and Max actually believes her. “I’ve always been better when I’m with you.”

Max is not sure that part is true, but she feels herself smiling involuntarily.

“I missed talking to you this way,” Max says, then clarifies when Eleanor looks confused, “You stopped being quite so honest with me long ago.” 

Eleanor’s eyes are dark for a moment, neither of them saying anything, but then Eleanor is leaning in and Max is meeting her in the middle. The kiss is soft and short, a gentle press of lips before they part once more.

“I missed everything about you,” Eleanor whispers, raw and honest, her breath warm on Max’s lips. When Max opens her eyes, she sees that Eleanor’s are glassy with unshed tears. Eleanor wraps her arms around Max, holding her tight, and it is all Max can do to cling to Eleanor too. When Eleanor speaks again, her voice shakes as she says, “Max, I-- I’m so sorry for everything.” 

“I have already forgiven you,” Max answers, surprising even herself. But it’s true-- she had much to be angry about, certainly, but everything has changed. There is so much more for Max to be angry about _now_ , except now her anger is aimed at higher forces than Eleanor Guthrie. Besides, Eleanor blames herself for enough; Max does not need to blame her too.

“Philadelphia may be good for us,” Eleanor says, smiling again. Max dares to let herself hope so too. “It’s like we’re starting over.”

“A new beginning,” Max replies, contemplating the thought. In so many ways, this has felt like an ending. Nassau was their story and now they have written themselves out of it-- their chapter is over and the book will continue on without them. No happy ending, no epilogue, nothing; just an abrupt end to their narrative.

Perhaps Eleanor is right, though. A new place, a new start. They already know that they need new names; Eleanor certainly does not want the attention and possible repercussions of the Guthrie name any longer, and she’s definitely not going to use the last name _Rogers_. Privately, Max has always thought that Eleanor Rogers is an awful name, but she would never tell Eleanor that. Max herself also needs a new name, just in case, since _Max_ is not exactly a common enough name to get away with if anyone comes looking for them. Surely, Featherstone and Idelle will change names too, but Max has no idea what their plans are once they arrive in Philadelphia. 

“We can be anyone we want,” Max muses aloud, and then she cannot help herself-- she leans in again for another kiss. It’s still brief, still soft, and when they part, Max asks, “What shall our new identities be?”

Eleanor makes a humming sound as she thinks.

“We were farmers,” Eleanor declares, the edge of a laugh in her voice. “Yes, our families’ farms were next door to each other, so you and I grew up together. On farms. In England.”

“In England?” Max echoes, laughing now too. “Do I have to fake a British accent?”

“No, I’ve heard your British accent and it’s _awful_ , you’d blow our cover right away.”

“Perhaps my family moved from Paris when I was a girl,” Max suggests. She slides her hands into Eleanor’s hair, stroking the silky strands. “Then we bought the farm next to yours and you and I became lifelong friends.”

“Perfect,” Eleanor says, then presses a soft kiss to Max’s neck. “Now why are we coming to the New World?”

“The climate,” Max answers easily, and they both laugh again. “Our farms were devastated by bad weather, so we left our families to deal with that and we fucked off to Philadelphia to find well-paying jobs.”

“Of course, of course,” Eleanor agrees, with her face still pressed between Max’s neck and shoulder. Her breath almost tickles. “Everyone will believe that we’re really, _really_ good friends.” 

Eleanor kisses Max again, but she’s not gentle anymore. There is nothing tentative or unsure between them anymore-- they have a _plan_ , there’s a life that they are going to live together, and it may not be what either of them ever imagined, but Max finds herself thinking that it may be good anyway. Max bites at Eleanor’s bottom lip and Eleanor licks her way into Max’s mouth, and _yes_ , this is going to be good.

“Close friends,” Max says, breathless, while Eleanor kisses her way down Max’s neck with just a hint of teeth. Eleanor laughs, muffling it against Max’s skin.

“Not close enough,” Eleanor murmurs once she’s stopped giggling, and then her hands are finally back on the laces of Max’s corset. When they used to be together, Max had never worn anything quite so proper or elaborate, so Eleanor struggles with the dress for much longer than she ever did before.

“ _Fuck_ corsets,” Eleanor grumbles, and Max laughs again. She cannot remember the last time she laughed this much, and it feels… it feels strange, but _good_ , and maybe she should feel guilty for laughing with Eleanor when she’s left Anne and Jack and everyone else to burn with the wildfire that is Nassau, but Max isn’t thinking about any of that right now.

Right now, they are alive. That is enough.

Eventually, Max climbs off of Eleanor’s lap and takes her dress off herself, in a fraction of the time that it was taking Eleanor.

“You too,” Max insists, once she’s down to just the shift under her dress. She eyes Eleanor for a long moment, appraising the easy spread of her legs in the chair, the way her thighs look in those tight pants, the messy tumble of her hair around her shoulders-- so carefully pinned up before Max’s hands ruined it-- and that fucking _smile_ on her face. Max has always found Eleanor beautiful, but never more so than now. Eleanor looks at home in the captain’s chair, and Max cannot help but think that Eleanor would have made a wonderful pirate captain.

Max helps Eleanor get undressed quickly, and then Eleanor is divesting her of the shift, and they are both finally naked. Max takes a step back, then hops up on the edge of the desk, spreading her legs to fit Eleanor between them. Eleanor kisses her like she has something to prove, all hungry and passionate, and their hands are all over each other, touching necks and shoulders and breasts.

They have spent hours mapping each other’s bodies out before, in sun-lit rooms when neither of them had anywhere else to be, and in some ways, that was better than this. But in so many other ways, _this_ is better. This time, Eleanor is not paying Max and Max is not wondering if Charles Vane will be angry if he finds out Eleanor had been with someone else. This time, they chose each other for reasons deeper than money and lust. Eleanor’s hands are moving eagerly all over Max’s body, like she can’t get enough, like Max is _special_ , like Eleanor is cherishing every single inch.

Max would _love_ to keep feeling treasured, but she would also love to get fucked right now.

“I can’t fucking believe I went so long without this,” Eleanor whispers, both hands on Max’s breasts. Max makes a soft, involuntary sound when Eleanor plays with her nipples, and Eleanor swears quietly. “God, I’m so _wet_.”

“So am I,” Max says, then moans louder when Eleanor dips her head to take one nipple in her mouth, sucking hard. Then, suddenly, Max is gasping as she feels Eleanor’s fingers on her pussy. She’s so wet, Eleanor’s fingers slide easily, a gentle caress that has Max grasping at Eleanor’s shoulders as her hips jerk up. 

Eleanor kisses Max again, messy and hot, as she slides two fingers inside her. Everything feels _good_ \-- Eleanor’s body pressed against hers, Eleanor’s fingers fucking slowly inside her, Eleanor’s sweet lips on her own, _Eleanor_ finally giving her exactly what she wants. Maybe this is absolution, maybe it’s sin; Max does not care. She kisses Eleanor until she can’t think straight, and she’s dazed when Eleanor pulls away.

The only sounds in the cabin are the waves crashing against the side of the ship, their heavy breaths, and the slick sound of Eleanor’s fingers in Max’s pussy.

With a hungry look on her face, Eleanor pulls back, slowly withdrawing her fingers and sliding them into her own mouth as Max watches-- if it were possible for her to get even more wet, she would. When Eleanor’s finished, she grins at Max and says, “Sit on the chair instead, I want another taste.”

“I appreciate the word _please_ ,” Max teases, but she moves off the desk and onto the chair anyways. Eleanor looks around the room for a moment, then grabs her discarded shirt and moves it directly onto the floor in front of Max, using it as a cushion on the rough wooden floor as she sinks to her knees. Max does not need to be told to spread her legs.

Eleanor’s eyes flick up, bright and mischievous. “May I _please_ lick your cunt, Max?”

Max stretches out one leg, hooking her knee over Eleanor’s shoulders as she smiles down at her and says, “As long as you have not forgotten how.”

Max laughs at Eleanor’s outraged expression, and Eleanor looks like she’s about to say something-- but instead, she leans in, getting her hungry mouth on Max’s pussy. There’s nothing hesitant in Eleanor’s touch; her lips and tongue open Max with confidence and ease. Max slides her hands back into Eleanor’s hair, holding tight as Eleanor licks at her slick folds, Eleanor’s tongue slipping inside her and Eleanor making quiet, hungry sounds. It feels _amazing_ , it’s fucking perfect, it has been so _long_ since Max has been touched, and even longer since someone has touched her the way that Eleanor does now, all reverence and passion and an intimate knowledge of exactly how much Max likes to have her clit sucked.

“You are still good at this,” Max murmurs, breath hitching and fingers tightening in Eleanor’s hands when Eleanor suddenly thrusts her fingers back inside her. Max clenches down, emitting a low moan at the sudden, surprising fullness. “ _Oh_ , Eleanor…”

The first time they had done this, they had both been so young… Max closes her eyes, and for just a heartbeat, the ship and the rolling sea fade away and they are back in Max’s room at the brothel-- Max has already fucked Eleanor until she’s come three times, and Max thinks Eleanor is about to pay and leave, but then Eleanor is shifting down the bed, curious fingers dipping in Max’s wet pussy and asking Max, _Can you teach me how to make you come?_

_God_ , Max remembers that moment and all the moments after, all the times that Eleanor’s done this, all the times they have fucked each other and loved each other-- it’s Eleanor’s mouth that has kissed Max more than anyone else has, and that… it means something, somehow, in all of this. All this time has passed and, once again, it’s back to Max and Eleanor, alone and naked and overwhelmed with pleasure.

Max opens her eyes, grounding herself in the present, in this older Eleanor whose tongue is _much_ more talented than it was the first time she did this. She bucks her hips up, meeting the thrust of Eleanor’s fingers, desperate and eager to come-- and Eleanor must be able to tell, because she fucks Max _harder_. Max can’t help the sounds coming from her mouth, gasps and whines and Eleanor’s name, and-- Eleanor fucks into Max just _right_ as she sucks hard at her clit, and Max comes hard, gasping and shaking and squeezing around Eleanor’s fingers.

When Max opens her eyes, Eleanor is pulling back, her smug smile slick with Max’s come. Gently, she removes her fingers, and it takes all of Max’s self-control not to whine at the loss. She _hates_ feeling empty right after she’s come. 

But, _oh_ , Eleanor must remember that too, because she clambers into Max’s lap and slides her fingers back inside Max the second she’s seated. Eleanor does not move her fingers, but Max clenches around them and makes a soft sound as Eleanor kisses her. Max is still gasping for breath, but she kisses back, hoping that Eleanor can feel everything that Max is trying to pour into the kiss-- her satisfaction, her lust for more, her memories of every time they have done this, and… her _love_. At least a little bit of love, and that does not surprise Max, though it probably should.

“I should not have doubted your skill,” Max murmurs when Eleanor pulls back, and they both laugh breathlessly. 

“I missed the taste of you,” Eleanor says after a moment.

“You always did love it,” Max replies, a smirk tugging at the corner of her lips.

“It would drive Mr. Scott mad that I spent so many hours in bed with you,” Eleanor says, amusement in her voice-- but then she frowns abruptly, looking away from Max. “I think he must be dead by now.”

Unsure of what to say, Max says nothing, and wraps her arms around Eleanor to hold her tight. A second later, Eleanor gently slides her fingers out of Max and returns the embrace. They hold each other, the air thick with all the words left unsaid. There are many things that Max does not have the words to say, and even more that she knows just how to say but will never dare speak out loud. Max hides her face in Eleanor’s neck and Eleanor rests her head on Max’s, and they both try not to cry. 

For one long, terrible moment, Max is sure that they will spend the rest of their lives second-guessing every choice that has led them to this new future. Will a day ever pass that Max does not feel guilty for the things that she has done, the people she has betrayed? Will the hole in her heart where Anne once resided ever heal? Will Max hear the news one day that the wanted pirate Anne Bonny has been hanged for her crimes, and will Max ever be able to forgive herself for the hand she had in Anne’s demise?

“Is it cruel of us to leave them?” Eleanor asks in a hushed voice a few moments later.

“ _No_ ,” Max says resolutely, then moves her hands to reach for Eleanor’s face, making Eleanor look at her. Eleanor looks lost, and it pains Max to see her this way. Max’s tone leaves no room for argument, and there is a fire in her eyes that has been burning, dangerous and all-consuming, for years now. Guilt aside, Max wants what she has _always_ wanted-- to fucking survive. She refuses to live the rest of her life in shame and fear of her past. “Everyone that we left already left us first. We owe them nothing.”

Eleanor leans close, closing her eyes and resting her forehead against Max’s.

“I made so many mistakes,” Eleanor whispers, voice breaking. “Nassau is--”

“Nassau is not ours to worry about anymore,” Max interrupts in a gentle voice. “We must only worry about each other from here on.” 

“I suppose I should listen to you more,” Eleanor responds, tilting her head to ghost a kiss over Max’s lips. “I never should have stopped listening to you.”

“No more dwelling on the past,” Max chides, as much to herself as to Eleanor. She pushes all thoughts of Anne from her head and resolves not to think of her for as long as she can. “Everything is different now, _we_ are different now.”

“We’re going to be alright,” Eleanor says, yet it comes out like a question. Max smooths Eleanor’s hair back, finger combing through the tangles with a reverent touch. 

As long as they have each other, they will be alright. They have to be-- they have no other choice. It's too late to go back even if they wanted to. 

“We’re going to _survive_ ,” Max answers, then kisses Eleanor again and again, until all thoughts have fled from both their minds.


End file.
